


Let's Make Things Physical

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Finger Sucking, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall <i>would</i> say something snarky if he didn’t have Zayn’s fingers in his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Make Things Physical

**Author's Note:**

> Because someone had to write [it](http://24.media.tumblr.com/afdfd91141e547018d81d4bed0fdb290/tumblr_mi9qqjTIGO1rg1bo2o1_500.png), and we're nothing but pleasers. The only things we can think of pointing out before going into this are that it's straight up pwp and there's a vague reference to Harry/Louis, if that's something you're not into. Stock porn title from Tegan and Sara's Closer. Thanks to Saralisse/@pandlewords for the beta! <3

“Stop that,” Zayn grunts. Niall’s squirming, trying to push his arse back, and that won’t fly when Zayn’s trying to go slow, make this last. “Niall, keep still.”

“You keep still,” Niall shoots back, then amends quickly, “No, don’t you fucking dare. C’mon, shit, Zayn.” He drops his head, lifts a hand off the mattress to rub at his arm, knead into his forearm.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Knee alright?”

“Eh,” Niall says, “Don’ stop.” 

It’s not exactly comforting, and Zayn bites at his shoulder warningly, grinds his dick against Niall’s ass. He likes this, likes getting to watch Niall’s spine ripple and his shoulders push out and getting to _see_ his hitched breaths, likes the angle, when they get it right. But he’s also a big fan of Niall having a good time, and not aggravating any childhood injuries to the point of needing surgery. “Tell me to stop if y’need to,” he says, because Niall’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. 

“Need you to get going, ‘s what I need,” Niall counters. “Please? Please, Zayn.”

Zayn purses his lips, pulls back his hips and when he tips his hips forward again, hands spread on Niall’s arse, the tip of his cock catches Niall’s hole before sliding up. “‘f I didn’t know you better I’d say you’re getting impatient,” he hums. Niall _doesn’t_ get impatient, is the thing, can’t be arsed to care enough, but now- like this- it’s much, much different.

“If you’re not gonna fuck me, I swear,” Niall begins to threaten him, but trails off. Zayn laughs, but really, there’s only so long he can go just teasing Niall, so he wraps a hand around the base of his prick and lines himself up, pushes in slowly.

Niall’s head falls back and then forward, and Zayn can see the edges of his smile, can just hear the “Jesus, shit, fuck, Zayn,” that means he’s good to grind forward, rest his head against Niall’s shoulder and give him a minute to adjust.

He doesn’t have the breath to say anything, himself, just tilts his head so he can press his nose into Niall’s shower-damp hair, smell his own shampoo. 

“‘kay, move,” Niall grits out, tipping his head against Zayn’s and trying to pull his hips away for some friction. Zayn considers not moving at all just to mess with him, but there’s no fun in that, so he drags halfway out and then thrusts back in hard, one arm wrapped around Niall’s middle, holding him steady. “Shit, yeah,” Niall moans, and Zayn squeezes his side.

“Gotta keep it down,” Zayn hums, rocking into Niall at a slow pace, “lads’ll hear us next door.”

Niall snorts, and it turns into a moan, a shimmy of his hips backwards against Zayn’s. “So? Haz’n Lou do’t all th’time-”

Zayn presses his palm hard into Niall’s side, digs fingertips into his ribs. “This,” he grits out, “just f’us, yeah? Not them. Us. _Ours_.”

And Zayn doesn’t _get_ like this often, but when he does, it’s fun to spur him on, so Niall rocks back to meet Zayn’s next thrust and moans out his name, louder. “Yeah, fuck me,” he adds, and Zayn hisses, jabs fingers into his side.

“Need me to keep you quiet or summat?” he threatens, and oh, Niall hadn’t even thought of that possibility.

“What if I do?” he tries, whining at a particularly harsh thrust.

Zayn shifts, moves his arm down to Niall’s waist and pulls him back onto his cock, reaches around and clamps his palm over Niall’s chin blindly, fingers searching for his mouth. “Got you,” he says, “Y’good, just- there.”

Niall licks at his palm, and Zayn moans, presses his fingertips into Niall’s mouth and pushes them against his tongue. Sucking them further into his mouth, Niall hums around Zayn’s knuckles, lets his teeth scrape the sweat-salty skin until they bump the ring on Zayn’s fourth finger.

“Shit,” Zayn exhales, loses his pacing for a second, grinding his hips into Niall’s arse. “Yeah, that’s- don’t stop that.”

Niall _would_ say something snarky if he didn’t have Zayn’s fingers in his mouth. Instead, he darts his tongue out and presses it against the cold metal of Zayn’s ring, flicks the tip at the webbing between Zayn’s fingers. He grunts as Zayn’s rhythm picks back up, muffled into his hand, and Zayn leans down, presses a half-kiss that’s mostly teeth to Niall’s shoulderblade.

They’re good, good like usual and good like _better_ , with the new way Niall can’t be as loud as he wants to without choking a little around Zayn’s fingers. Zayn’s slowing down, hand warm and a little sweaty over Niall’s chin, and Niall can tell it’s because he doesn’t want it to be over- and then Niall’s knee twinges, and he curses against Zayn’s skin, drops his head.

“Shit,” Zayn says, and draws his fingers out of Niall’s mouth, petting his cheek instead, “Ni, hey-”

“Fine,” Niall spits, “fine, fine, don’t-” 

Zayn’s already gone still against him, and he’s trying to peer around Niall’s shoulder to check his face. “What-”

Niall tries shifting and it helps, a little, distracts Zayn with the way it makes him clench down on Zayn’s cock- but it still aches in his knee. “Sorry,” he breathes. 

“You’re good,” Zayn manages, and leans back a little, widens his stance, nudging Niall’s legs wider and tightens his arm’s grip around Niall’s waist. “Yeah?” 

Niall takes a breath and nods. It’s better, with the way he can put more weight on his good knee and let his other just rest against the sheets, let Zayn take the extra weight and keep them upright. 

“Good,” Zayn settles, draws his hips back and when he pushes back in, the angle is different, _better_ , catches Niall by surprise and makes him moan. “Oi, need me to cover y’mouth again?” Zayn teases, reaching forward to thumb at Niall’s jaw, and Niall turns his head and licks his fingertips.

“Maybe,” he says, swirling his tongue around the pad of Zayn’s middle finger and whining. “Definitely.”

“S’this a-” Zayn shakes his head, has to laugh a little because Niall is squirming and it’s distracting and silly and so fucking good, the extra drag of how he’s rolling his hips back to meet Zayn’s, “gonna be a thing f’you?”

“‘s’at a problem?” Niall almost comes to a full stop, no longer even licking at Zayn’s fingers or pushing his arse back.

“Not- no,” Zayn falters, and it still catches him off-guard, sometimes, how easily and casually Niall gets into things and doesn’t care much if they’re weird, or in this case, unbearably hot. “No, definitely not,” he says, more firmly, and before Niall can say much more, spreads his hand across Niall’s mouth and pushes two fingers in, grinds his hips in harder just at the feel of Niall’s warm, wet tongue pressing them into the roof of his mouth.

Just as Niall’s feeling the sting of how his thighs are stretched wide to accommodate his bum knee, Zayn is mumbling something into his ear, hauling him backwards with a hand still over his mouth. It’s probably for the best, considering that Niall still manages a loud groan of surprise when Zayn gets them back against the headboard, pulls Niall down in his lap and onto his dick. “Yeah?” he says, petting Niall’s stomach with his free hand, smoothing it down Niall’s shivery thighs.

Niall nods, sucks around Zayn’s fingers and nibbles around the joints. He still has to use his good knee for leverage, a bit, to meet Zayn’s short thrusts, but Zayn’s cock goes deeper like this, makes him feel full and overheated. He whines around Zayn’s fingers, swivels his hips, needy, and Zayn uses his free hand at Niall’s hip to push him up and then down on his cock to meet his thrusts, the head of his prick dragging right where it makes Niall squirm.

Zayn’s able to hook his chin over Niall’s shoulder like this, too, glance down at his sadly heretofore neglected cock, bouncing up against his stomach and catching precome in the sparse dark blonde of his happy trail. He presses his fingers down on Niall’s tongue, scraping his knuckles harder against Niall’s teeth, and sucks at his neck just below the ear. “Want me t’touch you? Can’t do both, babe- gotta make up y’mind.”

“Fuck,” Niall manages around Zayn’s fingers, makes a frustrated sound and bounces back on Zayn’s cock. He’s getting closer, though, and his prick’s starting to almost ache with need, so he pushes Zayn’s fingers away with his tongue, gives the tips of them a kiss. “Touch me?”

“Sorry I don’t’ve more hands,” Zayn mutters into his neck, decides to make up for it by sucking a red mark into the tender skin just above his pulse point as he wraps his hand tightly around Niall’s prick, slides it over the head, slick with precome. “Gonna come so good, though.”

Niall stiffens, raising up just so he can fuck himself down harder; they’re used to getting competitive about this, competitive in a way that’s more about making it better for each other than winning, really, but Niall still thinks he’d take the trophy. And give it to Zayn after, probably.

“Yeah,” he says, and then, “sorry, sorry, oops.”

“C’mon, Nialler,” Zayn hums, settles his forehead against the back of Niall’s neck, hair tickling against his own. His thrusts are growing shorter, quicker, thighs burning from exertion, and he uses the leftover spit from Niall’s mouth to stroke his cock fast, flicking his wrist under the head. “C’mon, babe, _fuck_.”

“ _Christ,”_ Niall hisses, and wrenches his hips down, trying to get Zayn’s dick where he needs it, and Zayn whimpers against his ear, losing his rhythm entirely. 

“Fuck,” he groans, teeth scraping down the knobs of Niall’s spine, coming with a single last jerk of his hips up into Niall, hand going tight around Niall’s cock.

Niall fights the burning in his knee and rocks down on Zayn’s cock and up into his hand, gets his own hand around Zayn’s on his prick and strokes himself desperately. “Zayn,” he whines, much louder than he intended, and is almost embarrassed at himself as he comes over Zayn’s knuckles and his own, dripping down the back of Zayn’s hand, over the bird tattooed above his thumb.

He slumps against Zayn’s chest, makes a displeased sound when Zayn shudders and grabs his hips, pulls him off his cock and settles him on his side on the bed. “I’ll be right back?” he hums, pecks Niall’s mouth and stands on wobbly legs. “Get’cha a flannel.”

“Th’best,” Niall nods, reaches out to squeeze Zayn’s fingers before letting him pad off to the bathroom. 

He must close his eyes, because the next thing he remembers is Zayn’s hands on his thighs and his voice, soft and close. “Hey, babe, don’t fall ‘sleep just yet, yeah?” 

Niall frowns and bats at Zayn’s arms, “‘m sleepin’, don’ disturb,” but lets himself be manhandled around anyway. Zayn wipes him down carefully and drops the flannel on the hotel carpet, scoots in under the sheets beside Niall and kisses his cheek.

“Y’know I don’t really care ‘bout you being loud,” Zayn mutters, yawns. “‘s hot.”

“Still wanted to put y’fingers in my mouth?” Niall quirks an eyebrow. “‘mind me again who’s into it?”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughs, tips his head against Niall’s. “Love you.”

“Love you, Zayn,” Niall grins, and falls asleep making a mental note to check for leftover bite marks around Zayn’s fingers in the morning.


End file.
